


Threads

by sweetmusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Deception, Depression, F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 16:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21182510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetmusings/pseuds/sweetmusings
Summary: Draco wakes up in the Janus Thickey ward, uncertain of anything. What, if anything, will he discover during his time there?





	Threads

**Author's Note:**

> I greatly enjoyed writing this. I'm used to giving characters happy endings, so this was a fun way for me to slowly have the characters give into despair.

Draco woke up slowly, relishing in the warmth that the covers gave him. The sheets were draped just right and the cotton of his pyjamas felt like a soft caress. He did not want the comfort to end and so he kept his eyes shut for a while longer. After he felt enough time had passed, he finally opened his eyes. Blinking several times to clear the sleep that addled his vision, his thoughts drifted. He wondered _ why _ he was clad in cotton pyjamas when normally, he would wear satin or more luxurious materials. Upon further pondering, he guessed that it did not really matter. 

What did matter however was the chaotic cluster of various potions lingering in the air – the scents invaded his nose and quickly bought him out of his currently slow and lazy thought process. One scent made him bolt upright and that was the smell of the _ Draught of Living Death _. The other lingering smells did not invoke such a reaction but as it was, Draco was now on high alert. That aside, he did wish he could remember the names of the other potions and but for some reason he couldn't recall them, it ended just like that with the trails of thoughts ending before they could begin. No, rather they stopped like a quaffle having come into contact with a brick wall - in an instant, dead. It worried him. 

The scent of that potion had made his hands feel clammy. Wiping them on his sheets, he closed his eyes for a moment. This had bought him to his next question; just where _ was _ he, then?

Time carried on and as he continued to ponder his location, Draco slowly became aware of a light to his left which almost beckoned to him. Clutching the bedsheets with his left hand, he lifted his right up to his eyes and rubbed, almost to the point of irritation. 'Damn.' He cursed his sore eye and fell silent. Come to think of it, Draco thought, it seemed to take a rather long time for his hand to make the distance from the bedsheets to his face. With his eyes now free from sleep, he realised that the mysterious light had been nothing more than a light fixture. 

_ Oh, well that certainly explained a lot, _ he thought sarcastically. 

Pulling his eyes away from that damn ceiling light, he opted on looking straight ahead. Curtains surrounded his bed from his left all the way to his right and they were a pallid green; the colour made Draco want to be sick. 

_ St. Mungo's, perhaps? Looks like it...but why? _He asked himself.

As he followed the direction of the curtains to his right, he spotted a clinical cabinet - it was so white it almost shined. Draco briefly wondered if he would be able to see his reflection through the stark surface. He was about to dismiss the cabinet and ask himself some serious questions when he became aware of some documents lying neatly on top. 

_ How interesting _, he observed. 

Ignoring the papers for now, he clasped his hands together and retreated back into his mind; he had a lot to think about. From what Draco had gathered so far, very little about this entire situation made sense. That being said, something about this did indeedy seem familiar. He wished he knew what, or why this was the case. Scratching his head and resisting the urge to run either of his hands through his hair, he continued to sit there in silent contemplation. As the seconds carried on, he was growing frustrated, nothing was coming to him; it was as though someone had grabbed his thoughts and rid him of them. Suddenly, he shuddered. 

'Perhaps those papers by this bed will give me answers?' he asked aloud, which was quite silly really as it was not like anyone would answer him, would they? He learnt over to grab the papers and was startled by a soft, female voice. 'You're not ready.' she said, almost as if talking to herself. Draco whirled around, his hands suddenly feeling cold and his heart started to beat just that bit faster.

'What?' he decided it was a good thing he hadn't been holding anything or he likely would have dropped something. Holding a hand over his chest briefly, he stared at the woman. 'You're not ready.' she repeated. The woman had a slim build and looked haunted, Draco knew that expression very well. It stayed stuck to you and before you knew it, morphed into a mask and took up residence on your face. Yes, he knew that she too had seen too much in her life, and his heart twinged in sympathy. One thing Draco saw and then thought of on loop was that the woman was wearing a nurse's uniform. It was reminiscent of the nineteen-fifties; a pale-green long dress with slightly puffed shoulders followed by a white apron. _A bit outdated, surely?_ Draco asked himself. The more he looked at her, though, the more he was reminded of those putrid curtains and he held back a shudder. His father would have been proud…

The nurse remained silent and Draco's silence gave way to a spark of irritation. 'Just what do you mean by that?' he all but growled, but then went quiet, feeling guilty all of a sudden. Malfoys did not growl. 'My name is Mafalda, I'm one of the nurses here. If there is ever anything you need, you only have to ring this bell right here.' with a soft chime, a classic chrome bell appeared next to the papers. As the chime faded out of existence, Draco turned around to face Mafalda. '...Thank you. So, about these papers. What do you mean?'

Her expression flickered for a moment but stayed resignedly haunted. 'You aren't well, and you're here for...an indeterminable amount of time. I'm sorry, but I can't say any more than this. I don't recommend looking at those papers.'

'I am here for... how long? Why? For the love of Merlin – Then, I, why are they on this cabinet then? It's almost as if these papers are taunting me!' he shouted. He just wanted answers, was that too much to ask for? Biting back some sort of acidic comment, he sagged. 'Please, Mafalda. I just want some answers, I don't even know why I am here, nothing makes sense anymore.' he shook his head slowly to one side. 

'As much as I would like to tell you, I don't think that would be wise, I am so sorry, Mr. Malfoy.' As Draco observed her, he thought he saw her expression flicker again, but in a second she looked the same as before and perhaps he had just imagined it. 'I – fine.' he muttered. He stared at the bedsheets for a moment and then looked up again. The nurse – Mafalda – had gone. He grabbed the covers and shoved his face into them. 'Dammit!' He yelled and it felt good to do so. He was under the impression that he hadn't spoken much recently as his throat felt a bit scratchy. That was peculiar. He was a quiet man, but not to that degree. 

Struck with sudden inspiration, he pressed down on that bell the nurse had given him. _Ding. _The ding reverberated throughout the room and its soft tone was soothing to Draco's ears, and he wondered how long it would be before Mafalda popped her head through the curtains. Before he knew it she was back and so was that soft trademark smile. But for some reason he suspected it wasn't genuine. _Looks like I'm not the only one who puts on a mask…_ he observed. 'Can I help you, Draco?' She asked, smoothing out her apron.

'Ah um, yes. My throat feels scratchy and I'm quite thirsty. I'd like a glass of water please.' he smiled back, his heart was not really in it. But politeness called for it, and if anything he had been raised to be a true pureblood. Mafalda never faltered. 'Of course, Mr. Malfoy, I'll go and get you a glass. I'm terribly sorry we didn't leave one on your table.' 

'Thanks.' he nodded at her. With another smile, but smaller this time, she nodded and left Draco to his devices. A glass of water appeared next to him and he raised his eyebrows. _Huh._ Taking a sip, he closed his eyes in relief. _This water tastes so good_, he almost moaned. Before Draco knew it, the glass was empty and he thought he heard a woman crying in the distance. 

Deciding that he'd had enough to ponder today, he turned over and yanked the covers up so that they did not just cover his shoulders, but his head, too._ Maybe I can get some sleep like this, if I have to keep looking at those curtains I will go insane. _Suddenly, his eyes opened. _Sleep. Hang on. For all I know I've only been awake an hour! I shouldn't be tired already. This is how I felt before and none of this shit feels right… _wanting to test something, Draco lifted a hand to his face. It was not a big distance, just from his hip to his jaw. Yet it felt like it took an age. Draco was not a stupid man. He could put two and two together, and that he did. There was only one conclusion he could come to; he had been drugged. 'Aw, fuck…' he slurred. Not long after that, sleep claimed him with its long and encompassing tendrils.

He jolted upright. Things weren’t right. Startled awake by his fitful dream; he panted and panted. Something had happened to someone, they were in trouble, and he had to get to them… Wait. No. Just one person… her. Long wavy curls and the softest of lips were all that he could remember, though. Nothing seemed right anymore. As his heartbeat slowed down to a normal range, he ran his hand through his hair – Merlin, his hair. He remembered it used to be short, but now it was...long? _Merlin._ He thought again. This in itself had to be some kind of a nightmare? He would have laughed at using that descriptor, but suddenly it did not seem so silly and suddenly, he was painfully aware of the fact that… He felt lonely. Something was missing. Something was going on. Things seemed so jumbled up, like one of those muggle puzzles he’d asked his father about one year as a child - he felt small. Afraid. Lost. He felt so, so small and he really just wanted a hug. He knew one wouldn't come, though. And then the tears were running down his face. 

Draco wondered how many days had passed him by. He either seemed to sleep them away, or block them out. If he was honest with himself, it felt good to do that on some occasions. He had been having these dreams recently involving a woman, and he was positive he once knew her. He couldn't recall a single thing about her and yet, and yet she felt like home to him, how ridiculous was that? Feeling the urge to laugh at the absurdity of everything, he quelled it. Somewhere inside, he felt as though he were taut; like a rubber band close to snapping. Something was bubbling under the surface. But what was it? Sod it, it could wait. He decided that this didn’t matter for now. Besides, he felt tired again. pulling his covers up that little bit more, he turned over and closed his eyes. 

He had the impression that more days had passed by, but without a clock or even a calendar, it was pretty difficult to keep track. He hadn't felt like ringing the bell since he discovered he was being drugged; hadn't felt like speaking to Mafalda. She seemed nice but how could he trust anyone in here? He then decided that he didn't care for what she'd said about the papers by his bed – he was going to read them if he wanted to, and that was that. One thing which had been drilled into Draco from childhood was that Malfoys always got what they want. So, with his face casting a shadow onto the papers, he picked them up from the cabinet and began to read. And then he froze. The letters made sense to begin with, and while he wanted nothing more to absorb the contents, it was all he could do not to scream with frustration. As he’d peered closer, the text had morphed into a haphazard mess and he was startled to notice tears occupying the corners of his eyes.

_ ‘What?’ _ His voice came out as a hoarse whisper and he suddenly wished he had some water. But he wasn't about to ring that bell, Mafalda's words be damned. _ Fuck. _ He looked at the papers by his bed and felt something bubble under the surface. Was it rage, sadness? Who knew, because he didn't at this point and that was fine with him. Draco yanked the papers off the cabinet and held them for what felt like an eternity. Before he knew it, he had screwed them up tight into a ball, and he felt a sense of satisfaction as it collided with the still-closed curtains. Draco was left seething as the ball fell to the floor with a barely audible _ whap _ . He decided he couldn’t be bothered for the rest of today, so he pulled the sheets over his shoulders and finally, his face. Once his anger was out of his system, he realised he’d never felt so hopeless. The tears had dried what seemed like hours ago, but the feeling of deep pain persisted. A while later, sleep came to greet him like a familiar friend. As he felt sleep's tendrils embrace him bit by bit, it occurred to him that he was oh-so fed up of this. _ ‘So fed up…’ _ he slurred, as he went under.

In this room where Draco spent his days, he’d lost track of time. Often, he’d sit in his bed and count, but eventually this grew tiring and so his life went on in an endless loop of counting and stopping. There was one thing he knew for sure, however. Blocking things out had become increasingly easier to do; and if that was the only thing he could do, do that he would. His thoughts drifted to the curly-haired woman with the softest smile and the loveliest chocolate-coloured eyes. She kept appearing in his dreams, every time he'd wake up he'd feel lonely, like the end of the world was upon him. He glanced at the water. _Maybe just a little_, he reasoned. He grabbed the glass and downed it; it didn't take long for the drugged water to take effect. Draco fell asleep with a soft smile on his face, knowing he'd soon see the woman again, and that was enough for him. That was exactly how Mafalda found him an hour later, when she was doing her scheduled checks. 

Draco stirred. He heard the sound of sweet nothings permeate all corners of the ward he was on, and he smiled. It was rare that the ward was quiet and oh so free of distraction. Never having been one to express much in the way of emotion, he wondered; if things had been different, would he be sat here now, crying? But things were not different, they were how they were, and so he did not cry. Instead, he strained his ears and continued to listen whilst he silently counted. Ten seconds passed. As Draco kept track of the time, his fingers softly caressed the familiar sheets. They were always the same sickeningly pale green, and it generally, it made him want to vomit. Just like the damn curtains. A couple of minutes had passed and he was now rubbing the linen with his thumb in a circular motion. When counting grew dull at nine minutes and twenty-four seconds in, his ears were still met with silence. 

_ Ah, this was nice. _

In other circumstances, he would have found this to be eerie, and while he knew he should feel that way, he couldn't bring himself to. No matter how many terms he internally rifled through, he still found his way back to his favourite descriptor of the moment — pleasant. He guessed he’d just stick with that, then. He often found the day-to-day hustle and bustle of the ward he was in overwhelming, anyway. Even his head was relatively void of thoughts and that too, was a rarity. Albeit a nice kind. He’d become so accustomed to the jumble of broken thoughts colliding with one another that if he was honest with himself — waking up free of it was heavenly. He realised he must’ve been lying down for some time, as he felt rather stiff. Sitting up, he shrugged and moved his head from left to right, revelling in the cracking sounds his neck made and the relief that followed. Having stopped tracing patterns into the covers some time ago, he leaned forward. After thinking for a while, he settled on a single question, what _was_ here? Yeah, he knew he was in some sort of hospital, but why did he never have any visitors? _Visitors. _This bitter observation made his blood run cold, he felt small and insignificant, like a small child who’d had all of his toys taken away from him while everyone looked the other way. The unfairness of it all made a mixture of sadness and anger claw its way up from somewhere deep inside. 

He rang the bell, and as he had suspected, Mafalda was on duty as she popped her head around the curtain. 'Can I help you with anything, Draco?'

He took a deep breath and looked up at her. 'Yes, actually. I was wanting to know what the year is? Why do I have no visitors? Why is there no clock or calendar here? Not being able to track the time has had me becoming a bit, ah, frayed…' he finished quietly, unsure of what to say next. He was filled with discomfort upon seeing Mafalda's face go pale. 'I...was wondering when you might ask these questions.' she answered, walking in and standing by the bed. 'We were worried about telling you this, as it might not be the best thing to mention to you. But, you deserve to know,' she uttered, handing him a magic calendar, charmed to turn pages and highlight the current day by itself. He took the calendar with shaking hands and as he took the year in. 'Fuck…' It had been six years since the war, and...so had he been here for all of that time? He shuddered and dropped the calendar. 'Ah. Sorry, I didn't mean to–' he went quiet.

'It's perfectly fine. Would you like this leaving on your cabinet?' she asked tentatively. 

'That would be nice. Thank you.' 

'Now as for why you don't get visitors… they have to be… vetted. By our higher-ups. Not anyone can be allowed in.' she stated uncomfortably. 

Draco's eyes narrowed a fraction, but he accepted her answer. 

'I appreciate you answering those questions for me, anyway… Thank you, Mafalda.' 

After she had nodded and gone, he observed the glass of water as it sat harmlessly to his right. The water was tempting, but he was fed up of being drugged against his will. He hadn't even done anything for fucks sake. No, he'd rather sleep find him on its own, tonight. 

_ Draco woke up slowly. As he rubbed his eyes, he became aware of lights flashing, which irritated him to no end. Looking around, he saw that he was in a hospital bed, not unlike the ones at St. Mungo's, even the curtains were that vile, pale green… 'Well,' he murmured. 'This sure is peculiar.' he said dryly as he took the small details in. There was a cabinet to his right, his wand… His wand! Grabbing it, he felt so much relief as sparks flew from it. _ _ Brushing his fringe behind his ear, he shuffled to the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. 'So far, so good…' he stood up, and all was okay. Shoving his wand in the side of his pyjamas, he made sure it was hidden. He opened the curtains and walked out of his little room, and nearly stumbled. _

_ Patients were being forcefully restrained by nurses. Some were kept in straitjackets and were crying. The odd patient was magically restrained and some were held down by high-grade medical cuffs. Screams, wailing and cries assaulted Draco's ears and chipped away at his heart until he felt filled with sorrow. ' _ _ Silencio! You only had to be good, but now look what you've done!' One patient in particular was screaming silently now, neverending tear tracks running down their face. The nurse attending to them had a quill sticking out of their side, and had clearly had enough of their antics. Casting a stunner, the nurse stiffened and nodded, obviously in satisfaction as the patient went still. _

_ Shaking his head, he took a step. Then another. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he saw a long corridor ahead of him and that was good enough. _ _ He continued to assess the situation as he carried on walking. So many sad people… it would soften the hardest of people, Draco thought. He glanced over to his right and stopped for a moment. _

_ Was that...Gilderoy Lockhart? He racked his brains and then remembered that failed Obliviate from years past and nodded to himself… _ _ Yes, he remembered. It was not public knowledge but his father had laughed about it to him one night when they shared some whiskey. Draco had laughed along with his father, thinking the man a dung-brained moron, but looking at the man now, his heart broke a little. Lockhart noticed Draco and asked him for an autograph, his expression happy but there was a manic look in his eyes. _ _ 'I...sorry, Lockhart, I don't have the time…' he carried on walking and felt melancholy at the man's next question, 'Who's that now, boy?' Merlin, fate was just too cruel, he decided. _

_ After walking for some time, he paused for a moment. All around him were the narrow and never ending walls of the corridor he was walking down; everything else had seemingly faded away. _ _ Draco didn't know what was down here, at the end. But he knew on some level that he needed to know, and he had a gut feeling that this was the only occasion he'd get a chance to find out. _ _ Finally – he was at the doors. They were quite tall, and left quite an impression. Draco felt himself shudder. 'So many fucking wards…' and it was true, Draco's face showed the irritation he felt. _ Just why did there have to be so many wards, anyway? Oh, perhaps this was the exit, now that would make lots of sense, _ he reasoned. He might not have a Mastery in the art of Wards, but then again, he didn't need one to feel the damn things. Severus had taught him quite well, after all. _

_ Checking that no one was around – fortunately he was quite alone – he grabbed his wand. He needed to know what was behind this door, exit or otherwise; so he started the long, arduous task of dismantling the wards. It had taken some time, but he had succeeded. Finally casting an _ Alohomora _ , he was rewarded with the sound of the door clicking. He would never understand why that sound was still so satisfying, even now. But he didn't have time to think of such things. He needed to get inside that room – he needed to, no matter what the cost. S _ _ oft hums and sighs could be heard as he opened the door. 'What the…' he uttered. Dread filled him as he felt his fingertips and hands go cold. Fucking hell. _

_ Hermione Granger was held behind this door, in this hospital – no, no, this _ prison. _ He wondered if any of the patients knew, and felt his mouth go dry. His head felt as though it were being hit with a battering ram. Oh, how it hurt. Something was at the front of his head, dying to get free. He remembered curls, the sound of laughter and the feel of her skin against his. The pain increased; he was on his knees now. Clutching his head as he fought to remember, he howled. _ _ Looking at Hermione's face, he all but screamed in pain it all came back to him. They'd been in a relationship during the war, and at some point, Voldemort had won. She'd been tortured for days on end until she'd finally broken and instead of killing her...Severus had the idea for her to be shipped to St. Mungos. Someone else had finally suggested the Janus Thickey ward. Voldemort thought it a fitting punishment for all the aid she'd given the Order; he hadn't seen her again and had been a broken shell of a man for it. _

_ Why was he here, though? Perhaps Voldemort had seen little use for him anymore and felt him being here was for the best. He snorted. How long had she been here for? Why was she here? Would she ever get out? Why were they both here? They deserved to be free! The questions continued to run circuits in his head and eventually he asked himself if _ he'd _ ever get out. If they'd ever get out. If they'd... _

_ 'Her...mione… it's really you...it's really you–' Still on his knees, he crawled to Hermione and held her tight, _ oh how he'd missed this. _ How could he forget? About them and everything they'd ever shared together? 'I love you...so damn much, Hermione…' His heart felt like it was going to break into a million pieces. He shuddered, unaware of the tears running down his face. _ _ 'Draco...I love you too…' he sobbed with her and they held each other close for what felt like a lifetime, in that dark room. Draco was still holding her to him when he was aware of the sound of footsteps. 'You thought we weren't aware of the wards being broken? Yeah, right. We thought you'd been a good boy so we thought we'd allow you this much, but this is the last chance you'll get to see the mudblood!' _

_ 'Draco!' Hermione cried out. Draco howled as a Crucio hit him in the side, effectively knocking him out of the embrace he'd been sharing with Hermione. After the pain subsided, he was left coughing, staring up at the man with hate burning in his eyes. _

_ 'You bastard…’ _ _ The man laughed, and sneered down at him. 'I'll let that one slide for now, you should be thankful you even got to see her! We didn't bank on you breaking through the wards, but hey, sometimes miracles _ do _ happen!' _

_ Snarling at the man, he whipped out his wand out he cast a stunner at the man, and miraculously it hit him; he went toppling down with a thud and Draco smiled grimly. Crawling back over to Hermione, he reached out a hand toward her. She held out her own, almost as if silently conversing. He was determined to burn every moment with her into his memories. Their hands were so close – he'd never forget her, he'd never – his world went black as a stunner hit him in the back. _

Draco woke up screaming Hermione's name. Now shaking and crying, even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop the tears. Nothing could stop them, they ran down his face and pooled on the covers he slept under before being absorbed. The grief was overwhelming and he wanted it to swallow him up whole. He'd give anything for it even if it meant drinking that water. Draco laid there for what felt like an age, crying. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep, the lull of distance conversation waking him up again, it was all too much. He dozed. He woke. He'd drink. He'd wake. His life was a cycle of waking up to drink the drugged water, anything to fall asleep so he could see Hermione, his love. 

He heard footsteps and then the curtain sliding along the rails. Was it Mafalda, or someone else? There was a pause and then a voice spoke. 'That poor lad, he has been through so much. He doesn't deserve this.' 

'He has been drinking more of that water as well,' another voice observed. 

'I'm not surprised, if I were him, and had lost my soulmate, my heart would be breaking. I'd want to have sweet dreams as well. I suppose it was only a matter of time before his Obliviate broke…' Mafalda replied sadly. Draco froze. He was fortunate for his covers and how he was 'sleeping'. So someone _had _Obliviated him. The only question was who, but he had to hold back a laugh because he supposed it didn't really matter anymore, did it? 

'Hannah… I wish I could set Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger free…'

This Hannah sighed sadly. ‘Stop thinking such things Mafalda. I know it hurts not being able to help anyone but you know we can’t go against the rules of the Dark Lord. It is what he wishes, for each of them to pay for their crimes during the war…' 

Draco was breathing heavily now, his hands gripping the fabric of his pyjamas bottoms. He heard Mafalda cry and sighed, so it had been her that time, then. _ What a shitty situation this is… _This was quite the enlightening conversation, Draco observed bitterly. Yet he continued to listen. 'Hannah… Oh I so want to free him! Seeing him wake up and live such a meaningless life day by day… it hurts! I- I want to do something!’ She cried until her tears ran dry. 

Hannah sighed and Draco was curious as to what she might say next.

‘I understand how you feel, Mafalda… I want to do the same. But we can’t. I can’t bear to lose you, and you – I don’t think you could bear to lose me. We’re sisters in all but name, you know that. If the Dark Lord caught wind of this, he’d kill – no, our fates would be worse than death.’ Draco's eyebrows rose at that admission. So that's how it was, he nodded to himself. He could understand it, but it hurt to know that any chance of help was now forfeit.

Draco had no clue of how much time had passed him by. He noticed the bed dip and saw that Mafalda was sat at the foot of his bed. 'You heard our conversation before, didn't you Mr. Malfoy?' He sighed, he couldn't pretend, it seemed. Not with her. He laughed, the sound harsh even to his own ears. 'I couldn't sleep. My mind kept turning and turning over my memories coming back, so I eavesdropped. There was little else I could do, really.'

Mafalda smiled sadly. 'You didn't take the water this time, I observed.' 

'I was saving it for later, I heard the footsteps and couldn't let whatever I was about to hear go unheard.'

'A true Slytherin, I see.' Mafalda laughed softly.

'That'd be about right.' Draco smiled bitterly. 

There was a lull. A few coughs. 

Mafalda leaned toward Draco. 'The truth is, Draco. Someone overheard mine and Hannah's conversation.'

Draco's breath hitched and tears came to his eyes. 'Does that mean you two will–' 

Mafalda smiled warmly at Draco. 'You know from my conversation before then, that I want to help you and Hermione all I can. The truth is Draco, I want to be there for Hannah, and she wants to be there for me. Our bond comes first, before anything. Now I really do want to help the two of you out, if anyone deserves it, it is you two. You'd probably both live a long life together in a safe house somewhere. But I've never been good with Occlumency...nor has Hannah… Severus is content with his life here making potions for the patients, he doesn't want anything to jeopardize that…' she finished lamely, and Draco's heart dropped. 

'What are you saying, Mafalda?' he asked cooly, whilst feeling anything but. 

'We'll be casting stronger Obliviates on you, a curse of the Dark Lord's own design. It's been tested on a few people already...ah, it's been successful. So you'll be the third person to undergo it. He also… ordered that you be given a modified version of the Dreamless Sleep, where you won't become addicted to it, and it won't lose its effectiveness. To stop any chances of your memories from breaking loose, he said.' she finished, her voice almost robot-like.

Draco didn't quite like the way she'd brushed over the part about the previous testers of this spell. 'Mafalda, who were...the first two people to undergo testing?'

She cringed, as if she had been expecting this question. '...Your parents, Mr. Malfoy. They don't remember you, or each other.' He felt as though several bludgers had collided with his stomach; he felt sick. 'So...that's it, then? There's nothing that can be done for Hermione, or for myself? Or for my parents? We'll both be Obliviated – permanently – tomorrow?" His breath hitched and tears ran down his face. We don't...even get to see each other one last time?' he asked lamely, hoping to the fates that maybe he'd be allowed that much. 

Mafalda was crying softly now. 'I am afraid there is nothing we can do, Mr. Malfoy. I am so sorry…' 

With that, she fled the room, leaving a stunned and broken Draco Malfoy in her wake. 


End file.
